


Rearranging Furniture

by Toast_Senpai



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Couch Sex, Floor Sex, M/M, Mirror Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toast_Senpai/pseuds/Toast_Senpai
Summary: Mirror mirror on the wall, why the fuck are you in the kitchen?





	Rearranging Furniture

**Author's Note:**

> I visited a coworker’s place for the first time and… was inspired. [Also, Shiro doesn’t have a prosthetic arm in this AU]

They have been living in this apartment for almost three months, but both Keith and Shiro have yet to make the place really their own. The white walls are still bare, void of any decoration. There’s a small couch and a television, although the ‘coffee table’ is practically a square of cheap cardboard with legs. Keith’s desk and computer occupy a small section of the living room, while Shiro’s own sit in the other room that’s used as their combined hobby space.

Both have been far too busy with their jobs to take the time to properly spruce the place up. It also doesn’t help that Keith works second while Shiro’s on first, and the only time they really get see each other is at midnight before bed and on weekends.

Keith loves the apartment because rent isn’t insane, it has central air conditioning, and the other tenants aren’t bothersome. The owner, Allura, lives below them. Two other guys, Hunk and Lance, are next door, and beneath their space is a person named Pidge they’ve only gotten a glimpse of once. So far, it’s a home that Keith thinks he can get used to. Plus, it’s only five minutes from his work, and ten from Shiro’s.

He just wishes he had more time to make it look _nice_ , to fill it with things. Most of his personal items are still at his parents’ house a whole state over. Shiro had very little to bring with him after ending his military service overseas. So yes, it is somewhat empty. Keith adores it regardless, even if there are piles of unsorted recyclables and slowly wilting plants in the corner.

This weekend is nice, too. One of those where the holiday falls on a Monday and both Keith and Shiro have off work for three precious days. They are able to spend Saturday together, being lazy and catching up, and Keith even makes them dinner when eight o’clock rolls around. Sure, he creates a mess in the kitchen, but in the end it’s worth it.

Shiro puts his empty plate next to the sink, next to Keith, who is busy scrubbing away at one of the pans. “Seems like you used every dish we own,” Shiro jokes. Keith had went all out, and the only thing left in the cupboard were a few cups and bowls.

Keith shrugs. “We don’t have many.”

Shiro brushes against Keith’s shoulder as he reaches for a plastic container sitting on the microwave. All it has in it are crumbs. “This,” he says and gives it a little shake, “has been here for weeks. You should probably return it to your mom.”

Keith shrugs. “I’ll get to it. Eventually.”

Shiro sets it down. He steps back, and then stops behind Keith. The shorter man glances up.

Shiro has that little frown on his lips, that tiny tilt, and his brows are creased. And Keith can see all this because for _some reason_ whoever built this apartment thought it a great idea to put a mirror in the kitchen right above the sink.

“The last time Hunk was over,” Shiro says, “he mentioned that it’s really weird that there’s a mirror in the kitchen.”

Keith looks back down at the soapy water. “Well, he’s not _wrong_.” Keith had thought it very odd, too, when they first moved in. But he hasn’t really taken much notice of it after the fact. “I don’t know why there needs to be one in here.” He supposes they could remove it, if they were so keen.

“We could always ask Allura. I think she said her uncle was the one who built this apartment.”

Keith scrubs the pan harder, trying to scratch off burnt rice clinging desperately to his very nice pan that had been a Christmas gift. “That would probably be rude.”

Shiro hums. Keith flicks his eyes up again, involuntarily really, and Shiro is still staring at him.

“What?” he asks.

Big hands come up to rest on Keith’s shoulders, a warm and solid weight. Shiro tilts his head. “This apron…” Yeah, Keith had forgotten he was still wearing that. “It looks good on you.”

Keith bristles a little. An apron is for _practicality_ , so that he doesn’t get shit all over his clothes and then later has to call his mother asking for advice about how to remove grease stains. He tries to shake off Shiro’s hands, but they don’t move. “If you say so,” is his bland response.

Shiro hums again, and this time it’s deeper. His smile expands as he moves his hands down Keith’s arms and then underneath them. His fingers poke at the design of a cartoon cat face on Keith’s aproned chest. He says nothing as he dips his hands behind the apron and cups each of Keith’s pecs, hands far too warm through Keith’s thin tee.

Keith tries to ignore him. He _could_ always give a solid kick to Shiro’s shin, but that wouldn’t be very nice.

Shiro lets his chin rest on Keith’s shoulder. “You know,” he says softly, right against Keith’s ear, “this mirror gives me an ideas.”

And Keith knows exactly what that is because he isn’t an idiot. Shiro is pressed up behind him, fondling him, trying to act all smooth or something. And yeah, it’s working, because it _always_ works.

“Can you at least let me finish this?” Keith asks, because he’s _never_ in the mood to clean, and right now he is.

“Just put it in the dishwasher. That’s why we got a new one.” Shiro drags his hands lower, gets them under the hem of Keith’s shirt.

“You don’t put pans in there, it ruins them,” Keith huffs. “I’m almost done.”

Shiro kisses Keith’s cheek, then goes still. The hot press of his hands are settled over Keith’s ribs, and it’s far too distracting because it’s a sensitive spot, one of the only places he’s ticklish. But Shiro doesn’t move, so Keith continues scrubbing until he’s sure the pan is spotless.

Keith dries it with a nearby hand towel and sets it aside, satisfied. Then he unstops the sink to let the dirty water down the drain. He tries to turn around, but Shiro pins him into the counter. He can feel the hard press of Shiro’s cock against his ass and teeth nipping at his ear. Keith forces himself to look into the mirror.

His face is already tinted red. Shiro is draped over him, gray eyes holding his own in a heated stare. Keith wants to look away because it’s damn embarrassing being able to see himself like this. He tries instead to focus on Shiro, on the white tuff of hair that’s become a little less fluffy than it was that morning, on the dull scar across the man’s nose.

Shiro’s hands are moving up again, short nails dragging across Keith’s skin until they reach his nipples. Shiro mouths at his neck and grinds forward. Keith feels the flicker of want through his nerves and it settles between his legs.

They’ve both been so focused on other things lately that he can’t pin down exactly when it was they even had sex last. There was that quick blowjob a few days ago when Shiro had gotten home early, a half hour before Keith had to leave for work. It had been rushed, yet enjoyable. But now they have _time_ , and just the thought of what they can finally do has Keith aching.

He pushes back into Shiro, grabbing onto the edge of the sink for support. Keith bites at his lip, tilts his head to the side, and he knows Shiro likes seeing that, likes having Keith eager. The hands are on the move again, and this time they settle on Keith’s hips.

Keith accidentally finds his own eyes in the mirror. He blushes darker and tries to lean out of frame, bending forward over the counter, elbow next to the sink in a puddle of water that had splashed out. It doesn’t exactly work, and it causes Shiro to snort.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks. He traces his tongue across Keith’s jaw.

Keith doesn’t answer. He _can’t_. He wants to turn around. He’d even be fine with Shiro fucking him against the stupid fridge, wouldn’t care if it sent their mini polaroids fluttering to the floor. Seeing himself slowly come unraveled is awkward. So Keith does the next best thing and closes his eyes. His elbow is starting to hurt and slip so he rights himself and rolls back into Shiro. It earns him a low groan.

The hands on him are gone within a minute. Keith misses their grip. And then he hears the rustle of a plastic bag on his left and cracks an eye open to see what the hell Shiro is doing. If he’s looking for snacks after they _just ate_ and amazing meal…

Keith watches as Shiro pulls a new bottle of lube out of the bag. Oh. Right. Shiro had bought that yesterday after Keith had texted him a list of things they needed. He listens to Shiro remove the safety seal then screw the cap on.  

“How convenient,” Keith breathes.

“Sure is,” Shiro laughs. He sets it in front of Keith and the hands are back, this time on the front of Keith’s jeans, undoing the button and zipper before bringing them down. Shiro pulls at his boxers, and Keith anxiously eyes the sliding doors that face their tiny balcony.

He _knows_ that no one can see them, and yet with the blinds open to take in the last of the disappearing sun he can’t help but feel like they are on display for the whole neighborhood.

The light swat to his bare ass has him blinking and looking into the mirror. Shiro is grinning at him. It’s a smile that says he has another one of those ideas.

Keith reaches behind himself to undo the string of the apron, but Shiro grabs his hands, stopping him. Keith raises an eyebrow. He smirks. “First the cat ears, now this? You’re pretty kinky.”

Shiro rolls his eyes as he slides Keith shirt up. “Says the guy who wanted to fuck on the exercise equipment.”

Keith saves his curses and instead says, “You sure didn’t have any objections.”

A bright smile. “Of course not.”

The AC that is currently blasting out of the vent at their feet is starting to become quite cold now that Keith is practically naked. He watches Shiro take a step back, definitely admiring the view. Keith spread his legs and looks over his shoulder.

Shiro looks for longer than Keith likes, so he turns around. The outline of his cock is clear behind the white apron. He opens his mouth to provoke Shiro, but the man is moving in close, pressing their fronts together and tipping Keith’s head up with a hand under his chin.

They meet in a firm kiss. Shiro’s so _warm_ , and Keith holds him, wrapping his arms around the broad back and grabbing on tightly to Shiro’s shirt. Keith expects Shiro to lift him up, maybe set him on the counter. But what he gets instead is Shiro giving his lip a quick nip before taking a hold of his arms and spinning him back the way he had been, face to face with himself in the damn mirror. It’s somewhat infuriating, and Keith doesn’t like how it sends a spike of excitement through his veins.

Shiro’s got Keith’s wrists behind his back in one fist, the other reaching for the lube. Keith knows he can put up a fight, and can win no problem. But Shiro has that hungry look in his eyes, and Keith takes a deep breath.

“This one of your kinks, too?” Keith taunts, voice strained.

Shiro snaps open the lube. “ _You’re_ my kink.”

Keith feels a laugh catch in his throat as Shiro’s slick fingers press between his cheeks, teasing at first before one slides in. “You have the cheesiest lines,” Keith manages.

Shiro releases Keith’s wrists and takes a hold of his cock instead. “You love it.”

Keith doesn’t need to answer that. He braces against the counter and squints down at the stainless steel basin of the sink where soap suds still cling around the drain, sparkling under the fluorescent lights. He watches the bubbles gradually pop as Shiro works him open. He’s getting impatient because he’d rather have Shiro hard and fast, but the man always takes his time with this, thinks that’s what Keith needs.

The mirror, his enemy, allows Keith to search out Shiro’s eyes. He stares him down, mouth open, light pants the only thing coming through. He glares at Shiro, and the man smiles in return and presses a delicate kiss to his temple.

“Why’s my baby in such a mood tonight?” Shiro whispers. “Dinner was amazing. You did a great job.”

Keith’s heart swells at the praise. He’s always admired the way Shiro is so open and kind to everyone, giving completely honest opinions and advice and compliments. It is a constant, and it _did_ things to Keith. Chipped at his walls, made him want to be soft and kind, too.

He hangs his head. “I’m just being selfish,” he mumbles.

“What was that?” Shiro asks, fingers twisting just right. It knocks the air from Keith’s lungs in a moan. “You can tell me what you want. Always.”

Keith squeezes his eyes shut. He probably looks stupid in the mirror, his usually pale skin gone ruddy, bangs fluttering with each harsh breath. Knowing Shiro, the man probably thinks he’s perfect or something dumb like that.

“I’m ready,” Keith gets out. “Come on.”

Shiro pauses, then slowly removes his fingers. He gives a few measured tugs to Keith’s cock before releasing it.

Keith waits for Shiro to slick himself. He can’t stop the goosebumps that spread across his skin when Shiro presses against his entrance. The first push in is always the best because of the burn, and Keith moans as Shiro slides in, the familiar thickness rubbing in all the right spots.

There’s a hand tangling in his hair, and Keith is forced to look up. Shiro’s face is next to his own, sweat already shining his forehead. It’s taking a lot of willpower to hold back, Keith knows, and he squeezes down on Shiro just because he can, because he likes to try to get a rise out of the man.

Shiro bites at his shoulder, but it isn’t hard. He releases Keith’s hair so he can get a hold of slim hips. He’s in as deep as he can go, but still waiting.

Keith wiggles against him. “Takashi,” Keith sighs, and the smoldering look he gets in response tells Keith that he’s got him.

The first thrust is quick, and so are the ones after that. Shiro’s hands are the only buffer between Keith and the counter. He’s pushed into it, and it _has_ to hurt Shiro’s knuckles, but the man doesn’t seem to care as he pants into Keith’s ear, groaning when Keith pushes back to meet him. The angle is all right, but it’s not quite what Keith wants.

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro rumbles out.

“Shut up.” Keith has to pull his eyes away from Shiro’s reflection. It’s harder to listen when he can see his own physical reactions to those words.

“But I mean it.” Shiro lowers a hand and lifts one of Keith’s thighs, spreads him open wide and _that_ has Keith choking on a moan.

Shiro’s hips are like a well-oiled piston, and they don’t let up on their relentless press and pull. It pushes Keith to a place still too far from the edge. His leg slides out of Shiro’s hand on a particularly hard thrust and it forces his knee into the counter with a bang.

“Fuck,” Keith hisses, knowing there’s going to be a bruise later.

“Sorry,” Shiro says. He slows his thrusts, the initial haze clearing. “You okay?”

Keith twists around, and the speed of it surprises Shiro. Keith takes advantage of the momentary confusion to easily bring Shiro to the floor, swiping his feet from under him. It’s a very loud, two-part thud as Shiro first lands on his ass, then elbows as he catches himself before his head can hit the carpet.

Yeah, there’s carpet in the kitchen, and Keith despises it.

He’s on Shiro the next second, grabbing his cock and sinking down onto it. Shiro tenses, mouth hanging open. Keith grins at him and pulls the apron off himself. He wonders how he looks, completely naked seated atop a completely clothed Shiro. Kind of unfair, but he has the upper hand now.

“Sorry,” Keith says, repeating Shiro’s words. “You okay?”

Shiro heaves a short laugh. He relaxes on the floor, arms behind his head. Keith stares down at him, happy to be away from the mirror so he can actually enjoy Shiro fully. The man looks drop dead gorgeous in a tank top. Though he’d look better without it right about now.

Keith grabs the hem of it and tugs, bringing it up to Shiro’s neck. The expanse of scarred skin over dips of muscle is what’s actually beautiful here. Keith runs his hands down Shiro’s stomach, practically purring at the feel of each ab along his fingertips.

He hardly realizes he’s been sitting still until Shiro bucks up. Keith clicks his tongue and stares down at Shiro. “Patience yie-”

“Don’t even,” Shiro interrupts, and he gives another strong buck.

Keith can’t stop the grin. Shiro returns it. A truce, then. Keith’s fine with that. He raises himself, then drops back down. Shiro gasps, and so Keith does it again. He watches Shiro pull his tank off and chuck it towards the living room.

“Baby,” Shiro drawls, hands finding their home again on Keith’s hips. “When was the last time you vacuumed?”

The question _almost_ makes Keith pause. But he doesn’t. Instead, he settles for a back and forth grind that has Shiro whining. “Since when is it _my_ job to vacuum? I thought we shared that.”

“We do, but I did it on the fourth.”

Keith has no idea how Shiro can remember the specific date that he did the damn vacuuming, but it’s annoying and impressive. Whatever.

“I don’t think I have since then,” Keith pants, because honestly he cannot remember.

Shiro sits up easily, and Keith moans at the way those abs look when they bulge with tension. Shiro gives him a kiss on the nose. “Feels like I’m lying on a bunch of tiny rocks.”

“Such a drama queen,” Keith says with an eye roll.

Shiro gives his chest a shove, and Keith falls backwards. His head _almost_ hits the metal trash can. Shiro hovers over him and picks up his legs.

“Have a feel for yourself,” Shiro purrs, then fucks into him.

Keith jerks, thighs twitching as Shiro goes _deep_ , and fuck if it isn’t amazing, even if he _can_ feel whatever bullshit has been ground into the carpet. Really, he hates carpet. He’d gladly rip it all out and replace it with literally anything else that didn’t require vacuuming.

Shiro’s sweat drips onto him, and Keith can feel the sting of the carpet along his back as he’s pushed along it each time Shiro thrusts in because the man is going much harder now, his impressive stamina and strength kicking in. It leaves Keith feeling like he’s being thrown to the edge, and he hasn’t even had to touch his own cock.

His head bumps into the bottom of the counter, signaling they’ve hit a barrier. Shiro bends down and kisses him, open mouthed, sloppy and wet and Keith sucks at the assaulting tongue. It earns him a low groan, and Shiro pulls back just so Keith can chase him for a proper kiss. But now Keith is bent weird, upper back against the counter, and it’s really not the ideal position to stay in for very long.

Shiro slows, gulping in air as he stares at Keith. He pulls out and takes a hold of his cock, hand jerking over himself roughly.

“Shiro, the fuck?” Keith grabs Shiro’s hand to stop him.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” Shiro laughs. “Being inside you is too much.”

Keith wants to say he’s flattered, but he’s strung far too tight at the moment and needs Shiro back in him. He stands on shaky legs and walks to the living room. He doesn’t need to tell Shiro to follow him – the man is at his heels.

He pushes Shiro down onto their couch, then climbs onto him. Keith kisses Shiro lazily and waits for him to line himself up. The easy slide of his cock has Keith humming into the kiss.

“You really like being on top, don’t you,” Shiro mutters around his lips.

“Feels nice,” Keith breathes, because it does. And Shiro’s thighs make a perfect seat, but he isn’t going to voice that.

Shiro hums and massages his ass, kneading each cheek. Keith bites at Shiro’s neck, and he’s tempted to go hard because he knows Shiro won’t mind, but he keeps it to a gentle gnawing that soon has Shiro giggling.

Keith kisses him again, and Shiro mumbles something into his mouth. Keith is pretty sure he knows exactly what it is. He holds Shiro tight, breathing in the smell of his shampoo and sweat. The thrusts have gone a bit tired, but Keith likes their leisurely drag. Each slide in builds the pressure low in his stomach until he’s right at the tipping point.

He’s shaking against Shiro, clenching down tight because it feels like it’s been no time at all and he doesn’t want this to end. But then Shiro’s circling his cock with a big hand and stroking just how he likes, flicking over the leaking head and dragging a thumb down the underside. Keith gives a strangled sob as he comes between them, spilling over Shiro’s hand. Shiro finds his mouth again and kisses him deep.

Then Shiro’s breath is stuttering and he gives a couple quick thrusts up. Keith feels the warmth of his come inside. Shiro lifts Keith up so he can slide out, then places him back on his lap.

Keith wants to tell Shiro that it won’t be that much longer before he can be ready to go again, but he’s rudely interrupted by a gentle two-part knock on the door. A knock he _knows_ because it’s one he’s answered to before. Accompanied by it is a very cheery and very feminine muffled voice.

“Keith? Shiro? It’s me!”

“Fuck,” Keith mouths silently, and scrambles off Shiro’s lap.

Keith searches for his jeans and shirt while Shiro finds a place to wipe his hand and pulls up his pants, then locates his tank top to tug it on. He opens the door with a smile as Keith is still straightening out his shirt and kicking the apron away.

“Allura! Hey.” Shiro runs a hand through his hair and leans against the open door.

Keith stumbles into view, trying to calm his breathing. Shit, it must reek in here. And he’s pretty sure the smudge of his cum on the leg of Shiro’s sweatpants is very visible.

The woman holds up a plate of cookies. “I brought you these, fresh from the oven. Well, I let them cool, so not that fresh, but fresh as of twenty minutes ago.”

Shiro takes the plate. “How sweet of you.”

She beams. “It’s no problem.” Then she pauses and tries to peer into the apartment. “I also heard some noises a little while ago. Were you rearranging furniture? I love the look of the place, but it’s almost a bit too clinical.”

Keith knows what she means. “Yeah, we’re still deciding how we want things to look.”

“Yeah, we just got done changing up the living room,” Shiro adds, an obvious lie, but a pretty perfect cover-up.

“It must have been hard work. You both look exhausted.”

Keith grabs the cookies from Shiro and turns away, heading towards the kitchen. He _so_ can’t deal with this clueless woman right now. Not when there’s come trying to leak out of his ass and he’s feeling faint with embarrassment. Social niceties are _Shiro’s_ specialty, and Keith fully expects the man to take responsibility.

Not that he doesn’t appreciate the treats because damn can Allura make one mean chocolate chip cookie.


End file.
